


Auction Day

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Auctions, M/M, Master/Slave, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's up for sale at the club where he's been a slave for the past year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auction Day

**Author's Note:**

> The main pairing is a spoiler, so please scroll to the end to read the pairing note if you really need t. 
> 
> Written for [Yet Another Heroes Anonymous Kink Meme](http://47-trek-47.livejournal.com/280938.html). As per usual for such things, written at speed and unbeta'd. D/s dynamics and slavery.

  
The crowd oohs when Peter is brought onto the platform. He's blindfolded for now, and his hands are bound in front of him with a black silk cord. Aside from these adornments, he is naked. His trainer already removed the plain brown leather collar he wore for over a year, the one that marked him as property of the club. Peter spends most of his time sans clothes, but he's never felt so _naked_ as he does without that collar.

"This young man is a prime specimen," the auctioneer announces. "A recent misfortune has left him unfit to serve here any longer, but the club's loss will be the gain of some lucky master or mistress." He touches Peter's shoulder to turn him around.

Mutters of disappointment and disapproval bubble through the crowd when they see Peter's back. He knows how it looks: one smooth pink line down his left shoulder: the scar of a whip mark that hasn't healed right. It's Peter's own fault. The master in that session had been an expert with the lash. He hadn't broken the skin until Peter flinched. Peter had been told to remain still, and he hadn't done so. Now, fittingly, his imperfect appearance reflects his imperfect submission.

"Aside from this blemish," the auctioneer continues, "This young man is the highest quality goods. Pliant, obedient, and highly skilled."

The auctioneer touches Peter in the center of his back, and he bends like a reed. He presses his chest to his knees and reaches back to pull his ass cheeks apart, displaying himself for the potential buyers.

The crowd ripples with sighs and murmurs. The auctioneer touches Peter's hip. Peter stands immediately and turns to the front. A hand on his shoulder guides him to his knees, and then the auctioneer's hand is at the back of his head, untying the blindfold. He whisks away the cloth, and Peter is blinded by the bright lights flooding the stage.

He's grateful that he can't pick out individual faces in the sea below. It's not that Peter minds an audience; he simply doesn't wish to distract himself by wondering who his new owner will be.

"Shall we start the bidding?" the auctioneer asks. The crowd responds with a flurry of bids, and the battle is joined.

Peter remains in place, knees spread the prescribed eighteen inches apart. He looks straight ahead and keeps his face neutral even as his heart swells with pride at the amount he is fetching. Even in disgrace, it seems he can be of service to the club one last time.

When the bidding starts to flag, the auctioneer says, "What is it worth to you, really, to have this young man at your beck and call?" He taps two fingers against Peter's lips. Peter sucks them in greedily. He lets his eyes drift closed in bliss as he tongues the man's fingers. This prompts an avalanche of renewed bidding.

After a time, the contest is down to two voices. Both men. Peter's eyes have adjusted to the light, but he makes no attempt to pick out the men who are still bidding. He doesn't want to form an opinion until his new master is decided. Even then, Peter knows what his opinion must be: acceptance. Obedience. Devotion.

Finally, the auctioneer calls out, "Sold!" Peter tries to make out the face of the man who has won him, but it's too late; Peter is already being guided off the platform.

An attendant re-fastens his blindfold. He is led backstage to wait with the other slaves for the auction to be over. He kneels patiently, and breaths deeply to try to quell the butterflies in his stomach. He is really leaving the club. Tonight he will be with his new master. It will be an important night. A new chapter in his life.

The auction seems to last for hours, although it can't really be as long as all that. Peter thinks his impatience may be getting the best of him. He resolves to be more accepting.

He wonders if they'll prepare him somehow for his new owner. Before the auction he was cleaned, shaved, and rubbed with oil to make his skin shine. He's not sure what else they could do, but he's hit with a sudden desire to make himself special—-perfect-—for his first encounter with his master. However, he hasn't been told to do anything, so he must wait.

At last an attendant comes to fetch Peter. He's led to one end of the room. No one has removed his blindfold, so he's not sure exactly what's happening, but he can sense someone standing in front of him. Fingers brush against Peter's cheek. A thrill shoots through him: this must be his new master. The fingers move down to touch Peter's throat. He holds his breath in anticipation. Then comes a soft weight around his neck: a collar. Peter sighs in relief.

"My good boy," Master says. His first words to Peter. His voice is deep and resonant. It fills Peter up.

"He'll need pants and sandals." He's speaking to the attendant now; his tone is different. "Have them bring my car around."

  
The attendant leads Peter away. He resists the urge to reach up and touch his collar. Master might be watching. The attendant gives him pants to put on—-they feel like raw cotton—-and slips sandals onto his feet. He is given no further instructions, so he stands, waiting.  
Peter hasn't heard anyone approach, but suddenly there's a hand brushing his hair away from the blindfold. "Are you ready to go home, Peter?"

Peter nods, unsure of whether he's allowed to speak. He doesn't yet know Master's rules. But he'll learn them all. He'll learn to be perfect for his new owner.

Master reaches for his collar, and Peter hears the snap of a leash being clipped on. His heart swells with pride. Master wants to show the world that Peter belongs to him.

The lead is tugged gently, and Peter follows. He doesn't know where they're going, but he walks confidently, trusting his new master to keep him safe. He hears the clank of a door opening, and the cool air and serene silence of the club becomes a hot, fetid breeze and a cacophony of rumbling and honking and shouting. The city. The outside.

Peter hasn't been outside in… Well, a year or more, in all likelihood. He's not quite sure of the passage of time. He doesn't even know what month it is. Peter stumbles on the threshold. Master catches his arm to steady him, and Peter curses himself for the way he's shaking.

"You're okay," Master says. He presses a kiss to Peter's forehead. "You're mine. None of this can touch you."

Peter nods, and when Master tugs on the leash again, he follows. After only a few steps, master stops him with a hand on his bare chest. "Here's the car." The sound of a door opening. Master takes Peter's hand and places it on the door frame. "Get in. Kneel."

Peter manages to fumble his way into the car and onto his knees on the floor. There's more room than he expected. A limo, perhaps. Master climbs in behind him and shuts the door. He pulls Peter against his knee as the car starts to move.

Peter rubs his cheek against the expensive fabric of Master's slacks. Of course, considering what Master paid for him, he must be used to the highest quality goods. Peter will try hard to live up to that standard.

Master deftly unties Peter's blindfold and discards it on the floor. Peter blinks at the bright city lights rushing by the limo's window. He wants very badly to turn around and see his new owner's face, but he isn't invited to do so.

"I was so surprised the first time I saw you at the club," Master says. "I never thought… Well, I almost gave up hope they would ever let you go." He pets Peter's hair, and Peter melts against him, showing pliable he is, how eager to please. "When we get home, I'll show you the place I've prepared for you."

Peter perks up and listens hard. He doesn't want to miss any clue to the details of his new life.

"You will not wear clothes while we're at home. When we go out, you wear whatever I pick out for you. Anything I want. This." He runs a finger under the front of Peter's collar, "Always stays."

A happy shudder rattles through Peter, and Master pets him again. His touch, and his voice, are soothing, intoxicating. "You will make yourself available for my use at all times. It's your responsibility to ensure there's never a time when I can't reach out and take you. Your ass. Your mouth." He reaches a finger down to trace along the length of Peter's soft cock. "This. Any part of you I want I will have without comment and without delay. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Peter says immediately.

"I'll keep you safe. No one else will ever touch you again." His hand tightens in Peter's hair, possessively. It doesn't hurt him yet, not really, but it's close. "You're mine, Peter." Master lets go of Peter's hair and reaches forward to the mini bar to pour himself a drink. Peter's eye catches the green and gold ring on Master's right hand. It sparks something in his memory, and his body is instantly tense.

"I'm not letting you go this time, Peter." Master cups Peter's chin in his hand and tilts his head up.

Peter meets Nathan's eyes without fear. He knows now that he'll be able to what his master wants. He'll learn to play by rules that he can actually follow. And now, finally, he'll be able to make his brother proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing is Nathan Petrelli/Peter Petrelli.


End file.
